


Stars When You Shine

by craple



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 16:06:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craple/pseuds/craple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ragnar is a good friend, after all. Surely he will share the priest, his <em>sweet</em> priest with a friend, will he not?</p>
<p>Or 5 times people randomly catch Ragnar/Athelstan having sex +1 time Ragnar allows Floki to watch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stars When You Shine

**Author's Note:**

> random things i write when i'm nervous, i don't know even. canon timeline, beware of spoilers? i hate thyri/athelstan btw, so yeah.

i. lagertha

She wakes earlier than she usually does, one morning, and does not expect to find the lack of warmth on the other side of the bed. Her husband is not a very heavy-sleeper, nor is he a particularly light one, waking upon the sound of birds perching atop the roof of their house like Bjorn oft does, but she rarely wakes to find him missing from her side.

After a few moment of silence, Lagertha decides to simply wander around the house. Both Bjorn and Gyda are asleep, quiet as the dead except for the raising-falling rythim of their chests. She walks on the tips of her toes toward the kitchen, not wanting to bother them out of their sleep, with her throat as dry as her tongue and the thought of cold water lightening her mood.

It is short-lived, however, when she nears the kitchen and hears it: a whimper. A muffled, needy whimper she does not recognise – _Athelstan's_ , her mind supplies, _you've heard him singing in the morning_ – which she did.

But then, the whimper arises again; louder, this time, followed by a litany of _'ah, ah, aah –'_ then the low throaty growl of Ragnar's voice. For a moment Lagertha stops breathing, as she tilts her head to peek through the curtains separating the kitchen from the living room.

There, she sees, atop the dining table, is her husband's naked back facing her; with pale well-toned slender legs wrapped around his hips, the heels of pale slender feet digging into the flesh of Ragnar's bottom. Rough calloused fingers and blunt-bitten nails of a man's, of Athelstan's, scratching deep red marks across her husband's back whilst Ragnar's hands are possessively travelling down the length of Athelstan's sides, palming at his belly and thumbing the head of Athelstan's flushed, lovely, lovely cock.

She can see Ragnar's cock, hot and hard and big, as he fucks into Athelstan's body with vigor; spreading the sweet priest's legs wide and open and _his_ for the taking, setting Athelstan just so until one of those pale slender legs is placed across Ragnar's broad shoulder, and the angle is so deliciously _good_ Athelstan can no longer muffle his moans.

"Quiet, sweet priest," Ragnar purrs, his right hand sneaking down to press a finger into Athelstan's body alongside his cock. "We don't want my wife and children to find you like this, don't we?" then he kisses Athelstan's red swollen lips and swallows the rest of Athelstan's whimpers greedily, possessively, like a man in love.

Lagertha returns quietly, oh so quietly, back to their chambers – hers and Ragnar's – and tries to ignore the painful ache in her ache by slipping her fingers into her soaking wet entrance.

The drink can wait, she thinks, and pleasures herself to sleep.

 

ii. thyri

The priest is a beautiful thing, sweet and well-mannered, and although he is not her first choice when it comes to marriage or love - well. He will do well, she guesses, already imagining how the sweet Athelstan would look if – _when_ – she rides his cock.

But then, just as she is about to propose the idea to the man, of whom she has been staring the entire night whilst Floki tells a story of a man he met in the woods, Lagertha giving her warning jabs to her ribs every so often, her ideal match is taken away.

Physically pulled up to his feet and dragged out of the house by none other than Ragnar himself. Bjorn is already covering his ears, for some reason – they haven't even gotten to the worst part yet, she muses – with Gyda smiling slyly in amusement, Lagertha concerned though only slight. Her mother and Rolo were probably going at it like rabbits, so Thyri doesn't bother looking for them anymore.

Standing up to her feet, Thyri walks carefully through the mass of bodies lying on the ground then follows the trails Athelstan left behind. She finds them in one of the empty houses, isolated and dark, with only a single burning candle as a source of light. Whatever it is she has been expecting to find – Ragnar telling Athelstan something, commanding him to do something, asking him something, anything, innocent sweet loving thing Ragnar might ask of him – the reality is so far from what she thought.

Athelstan is leaning against a small cupboard by a bed, practically sitting on it; his legs spread invitingly, Ragnar's naked gleaming body covering the space between almost greedily, his cock a hard flushed thing that she can't help but feel aroused upon seeing. She has always known Ragnar to be handsome, just not in the way she is seeing him – them – right now.

"She's been looking at you all night," Ragnar is saying. "I wonder what she'll think when we get back to find you marked all over." His fingers, long and rough, tug at the hem of Athelstan's tunic, and his grin is so wide, when Athelstan flushes and tumbles over words but doesn't object, and Thyri doesn't think she should see this – this intimate moment, as Ragnar leans close but doesn't push, and Athelstan shyly – sweetly, innocently, she thinks - presses those beautiful lips of his against Ragnar.

Tears swell on the corner of her eyes. Thyri looks away and doesn't look back.

(She pretends not to notice the pitying look on Lagertha's face, when she returns. Does not acknowledge the truth in it – because it is as much as an _I've told you so_ more than it is _I'm sorry he's in love with someone else_.)

 

iii. bjorn

He catches the priest riding his father's cock mid-afternoon.

(Father promised to go fishing with him, that day. He never shows.)

Mother is away, teaching Gyda how to seal a wound shut and open it again if needs be, and Bjorn doesn't think – _never_ thinks how different Athelstan would sound when bedded.

(Adorable, breathy little mewls; hitching breaths and continuous sensuous moans; followed by his father's throaty growls and muffled whines and _oh god, god, god –_ )

Bjorn closes the door as soundless as possible.

(He runs to the river and bathes himself until his lower body is numb from the bite of the cold.)

 

iv. rolo

It is a common occurrence that Ragnar barely sleeps with any women except for his wife when they are faraway from home. Rolo does not blame him, because Lagertha is gorgeous and everything perfect shaped into a headstrong individual; fierce of eyes and fierce in bed.

He knows, he's seen.

Not one of his best moments, maybe, but it was purely accidental. His brother never did find out anyway, and Rolo is glad for it. He can see Lagertha in Bjorn's blonde hair, his stubbornness and the purse of his lips – but then again, that might be his brother he sees. The three of them are much too alike for their own good. Rolo is only glad he can also see a part of himself in Gyda's face, whenever he looks at the little girl.

He was a bit surprised – shock, even – when he cannot find his brother among friends who are not in the mood to lain. Rolo double-checks the place in search for Lagertha's shield or hint of any womanly objects, when Torstein speaks up;

"Your brother's at the other room," says the drunk man from where he rests on Floki's lap, sucking the other's cock, seems like. "With the priest." Finishes Torstein, and gets back to - whatever it is he was doing.

Rolo doesn't believe that for a second.

Rolo is a fucking _idiot_.

(He almost gets killed, that night, by his own brother's sword, when he barges into Ragnar's _locked_ room and comments that the priest has a nice mouth. They are very red, very wet, Rolo says. Ragnar shoots a dagger his way and, after finishing, chases him around the village with an axe.

No one dares to look at Athelstan the _wrong way_ anymore.)

It's a bit hilarious.

 

v. floki

Like all men in the village, Floki is more inclined to be attracted to the female population rather than the male. It is not uncommon for Ragnar to find him in bed with another man, or _two_ other men, or Torstein and even Ragnar himself under the watchful eyes of Lagertha at once. But Floki's taste in men – it is very rare and very he is very picky.

Torstein is the only exception.

And so, there comes another day of grief; a funeral of water and fire, and Floki is _bored_ beyond belief. Which is saying something, since funeral is one of his favourite days, and this is just bordering on ridiculous. He regrets leaving Helga alone, at their cold shared house, before finally deciding to take Torstein instead.

It would do the man a little good, Floki thinks, watching him now. No matter how serious he looks, Torstein never declines his invitation when it comes to fucking – so he lets himself be pulled by Floki into the forest with no complaints.

He stops Floki short, strong hand around Floki's wrist, when the sound of something falling onto the ground echoes through the forest. Torstein signals him to wait.

Floki doesn't.

He skips over small branches and large big roots, following his intinct and drowns himself in Torstein's swearings until they reach a clearing where the grass is wet and sunlight is brighter than upon the streets of the village and Ragnar is fucking Athelstan slowly.

Their bodies move together, so very slowly, so very languidly, one would think they've done this one time too many. And maybe they have, Floki thinks, as Ragnar brushes a wild strand of Athelstan's black curls away from the priest's flushed face. Maybe they have, and this is not simply a mindless fucking in the middle of nowhere.

No, Floki thinks, with a start. This is the act of making love; an action far too intimate even for Floki to comprehend, and he doesn't think either of them has noticed. But at the look of pure adoration in Ragnar's eyes, the awe-filled light in Athelstan's pretty blue ones; he has a feeling that this one will last.

(It will also be a problem.)

 

+1

"I saw you making love with each other the other day." Says Floki, the moment Lagertha is out of earshot.

Athelstan trips over nothing and falls over his chair. Ragnar smiles an amused little smile as he helps Athelstan back to his feet, promptly pulling the man into his arms, sprawled gracelessly all over his lap.

Bjorn bolts out of the house. Floki doesn't stop grinning.

"'Making love'?" Ragnar asks, though it is not a question, and he is simply messing around. Floki doesn't mind. He is, after all, the king of messing around. He hums.

"Yes, making love. With the two of you I was actually expecting a good hard fucking, you know, kind of like the way you and Lagertha do it –"

"That was one time –"

Floki waves his hand dismissively. "Yes, not the point. Just saying that even _Torstein_ could not take all the love you've got for each other, and it is disturbing him as much as it disturbs _me_."

Ragnar smiles, a sly and suggestive smile. "So what are you suggesting, my friend? That I erase the memory of our lovemaking?" His hand is already slipping under Athelstan's tunic, Floki sees, and hs grin widens.

"Of course," he says. "Who knows? Maybe our priest likes to be watched."

Ragnar's grin is all teeth and primal lust as he pins Athelstan to the dining table and strips him off his breeches in one smooth practised move.

It turns out, Floki finds several moments later, his cock a hard throbbing thing in his breeches, that yes; not only Athelstan does like being watched, Ragnar likes it too.

He wonders, if later, much, much later, Ragnar will ever let him touch Athelstan and see what makes him squirm. Ragnar is a good friend, after all. Surely he will share the priest, his _sweet_ priest with a friend, will he not?

Floki sure hopes so.


End file.
